Joker's Configuration
by I-am-The-Mathgoth
Summary: A former messenger of a benevolent god becomes a guardian for the Joker's Configuration when it grows tired of its role of being only half a human, it calls on everyone favorite cenobite to grant it the gift of mortality...


_Yeay! Tell me if this sucks, so I can ignore you._

_No, I kid, read and review!_

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What disgusts me most about myself is the skin. Greasy, wet, moldable like dough, filled with holes and hair and blood and fat. Whenever I touch something, I leave a greasy, opaque fingerprint or forehead print if I'm being clumsy. It holds me together so sloppily, like a bag of sticks and water, pulled down by gravity and beat on by wind and time. I hang clothing on myself as though I want to cover the grotesque nature of my human skin, but seriously, how can I hide what everyone has?

But I don't abuse it. I don't shove metal through my ears or nose or lips or anything like humans do. I don't MAKE myself bleed, nor do I do it naturally, like human woman do. Only one...entity…has ever done that, and at this second, I am standing in front of the cube, debating on whether or not I want to summon him.

I never sent any humans to him before. I've had the cube with me for years and I never even touched it. In fact, this is the first time I'd laid eyes on it since…oh, the 80's? I put it away somewhere and simply never saw it again.

I sat now on my stool, dragging a lungful of cigarette smoke and tar into my chest, watching the cube silently. If I opened it myself, chances are, I'd be punished again. But even that seems like a better idea than to stay on this plane. My choices are to either stay what I am, guarding the cube for another century as a half human _thing_ without even being given the choice to have a normal "life" as they call it, or open it now and be potentially given that option…but I'm going to suffer for it. If I thought I had experienced it all simply as I am now, what would it be like if I was complete?

I took another drag, not really seeing anymore. My hair hung over my face in greasy tangles, pale white and matte. My skin was technically white as paper, but you don't stay white in the human plane, not with blood and filth. I was a dirty gray. I give my physical appearance a lot of thought, which is why I spent hours simply staring at myself in mirrors. My grey skin, my nasty hair, my pale, lipless mouth, my black eyes…I wondered if he had given me black eyes simply because he had no imagination, or because his own eyes were black as coal. I could almost see the bones in my fingers through the thin skin. It horrified me to know that under all this mess was bone, a hard, bare structure onto which I am sculpted. I feel the pain of my fingernails simply growing from under my skin, rubbing against the soft tissue underneath.

I finally drop the cigarette and let it smolder on the floor, amid the long tubes of burnt carpet I had already acquired in this way. I had been burned before; in the human world, death is actually a lot less easy to come by unless you throw yourself off a bridge (which I have done too). The cigarette burned nearly into a long scorch mark and then quietly put itself out.

I pulled the cube closer. It's silver faces reflected my own. They actually had creations like this in the human plane; they called them Rubik's Cubes. The more obscure ones, the puzzles you must twist into diamonds or other shapes, they are so close to this particular form that I often wondered if maybe humans are living closer to the parallel of hell than I thought. Do Cenobites encourage these designs? Do they inspire them, unknowingly to the creators?

I twisted the cube a dozen times in my hands, remembering exactly how the game goes, despite the fact that I hadn't played with it in centuries. The first layer snapped off in my hands. Inside was a small, golden ball. I once saw the Phantasm movies and the silver weapon ball things reminded me of the interior of the Joker's Configuration. The ball however, doesn't open with blades or anything. It does play a little tune, however.

I cracked the ball open by running a ragged nail across the slit cut around it. It lifted on tiny pillars. I saw a glimpse of gears whirling, and the tune got a little louder. I set it down and waited. The tune ran its course and eventually, stopped. The top of the ball slowly clicked down, back into place again.

I managed to pick up another cigarette and light it before the room dimmed considerably. I inhaled the smoke and let it calm my nerves, which were jittering like little bugs. I saw his feet, or at least the hem of his dress thing before his face. It wasn't until I had been on Earth for a while before I came to the conclusion that males wore pants, and only female wore skirts. At least in today's world. I doubted that he cared what gender his victims saw him as…but I did. I wasn't anything. I could be both, or neither.

He didn't come alone; as usual, he had some of his disciples following. I heard the swish of their clothes, their sometimes quiet, sometimes labored breathing, the click of their blades and chains…I sat on the stool with my knees drawn up, holding my cigarette in my fingers and let it burn down. I tried hard not to look up. I never looked up at his face. The last time I did, I had been rewarded for my trouble with the loss of my vision as he tore my eyes from my head.

His stride brought him in front of me. I focused on his feet. If I was lucky, he would see it as a sign of respect.

"Look at me, my toy."

Well shit. I really hoped he wouldn't hit me with anything if I looked up. Please don't let him take me before I had a chance to argue my case!

I dropped the cigarette and looked up.

The face was different, much, much different. He had taken another body, it seemed. In fact, if I didn't have personal experience with that form of torture, the nails sticking out of his face look almost ridiculous. I must have given him a strange look because he almost smiled at me.

"Why did you call us here?" asked another of his congregation. It was a smaller female with pretty green eyes, but with her chest opened, autopsy style. Her heart was still and un-beating in her exposed bosom.

"I called him," I said, pointing a grubby finger at their leader, "and only him. The rest of you can scat." They looked at each other sideways, and then turned to him. He was silent for a second. I saw him consider my order. He raised a single hand and they moved back into the shadows. In a minute, there was only me, and Xipe Totec.

"You have not sent any souls to us," he said finally, "in all your years keeping a key to hell."

"Yeah," I sighed, lowering my head. I didn't want to have to look at him. "I'm well aware of my failure, but having experienced your particular brand of…_exploration_, I really don't think I could stand it if I damned anyone else."

"…and yet you call me now. Are you looking for favors?"

"Fuck it. You owe me."

"You won't look at me? At least look at me when demanding an apology."

I jerked my head up and tried to give him my most poisonous stare.

"Don't patronize me. I called you because I have no other choice. I don't care for apologies; I only want you to finish what you started."

"Oh?" He took a step towards me. I didn't even cringe, though I was sure that if I had a heart, he would hear it thudding like a drum. "What did I start?"

I jumped up and grabbed my hair.

"This! This filthy, disgusting human body! I want you to _end it!"_

Unlike his followers, Xipe Totec wasn't above facial expressions. If he wanted to smile, he would. If he wanted to grin evilly, well then, he had all the power to do it. Like he was doing now. It sent a cold shiver down my spine. Or would have, if I could feel to that extent. It was more like I had a sudden reminder of my centuries of torture in hell, and a realization that I was about to re-enter it.

"Death? Is that what you called me for? To give you mortality? That's a lot to ask when you haven't done anything for us."

"What, because I didn't damn innocents to your perverted 'pleasures'?"

"Innocents?" He grinned again. "Alright then, fallen angel. I'll make a deal with you." He held up a hand, separating his fingers. "If you bring me five souls to trade for your own, I'll give your mortality. What you do with it is your own decision."

I bit my lower lip.

"So you're telling me, I'm fucked either way aren't I?" I sank down on the floor. "If I don't damn souls, I'll live as a…being…forever, and then eventually come back to you. If I do become human…well, what god would want me after what I need to do? I'll be sent to be punished." I looked up and caught his black eyes. "And I bet you would ask for me by name, wouldn't you?"

"I would have no dominion over you. Your creator gave you a job, and you fulfilled it. Mine gave you another task, and if you bring me my five, it will be considered complete and you can return to your paradise."

"You're shitting me."

"I assure you…I am not."

I looked down at my dirty shirt, my ragged skirt; I used it to cover the fact that I was a nothing. Five souls, that's all it would take. Just five and I would be whole, at least until I died.

"Fine," I said finally, "I'll give you the five."


End file.
